What the Cold Wind Brings
by Pauciloquent Mushroom
Summary: Witness, little children, what wonderful gifts are gained by staying up past your bedtime. A prologue to A Stolen Journey.


It was a dark and stormy night...  
Well, it wasn't THAT dark. It wasn't really night either, more of a grayish-early-evening type thing. The storm may have been exaggerated a bit.  
But it WAS windy!  
It was a windy early-evening...

* * *

The soft patter of small footsteps echo through the otherwise still and seemingly empty house.  
A stair step creaks. A short figure, currently occupying the offending step, visibly flinches before the footsteps hesitantly resume. A soft squeal of delight erupts from the shadowy figure as it jumps the last step and races on bare feet towards the deserted and darkened cooking area.

A soft yellow light emerges from the slight crack of the door of the steel refrigerator, growing to illuminate the entire kitchen as it is energetically pulled open.  
The figure, now recognizable as that of a violet-haired, pale-eyed young girl, giggles rather loudly as she steals from the fridge a full, unopened bottle of MooMoo Milk. The child swiftly uncaps and gulps down more than half of the creamy liquid. With a satisfied smile and a milk mustache gracing her face,  
she stands on her tip-toes, and unsteadily shoves the now considerably lighter container onto the middle-most shelf,  
carefully hidden behind yesterday's casserole. Content with the hiding place, she's in the process of closing the door, allowing the shadows to obscure her once more, when a vehement snarl, hissing and rasping,  
draws her attention to the looming front door of her house.

Were she older, thoughts of zombies, burglars, and all sorts of creepy night-time critters might race through her mind, causing her to bound up the stairs in fright until she lay trembling beneath her woolen sheets. As it was, not even a hint of such frightful thoughts cross her innocent mind as she skips to the door to unclasp the lock.

* * *

The owner of such a high-pitched, rough, and guttural voice is currently not having a very good day.  
If it was dark, if it was storming, if it was foggy, if it was raining! Honestly,  
if a FOREST FIRE sprang up, he'd be having more fun! But no, there simply -has- to be an egg-cracking WIND on TODAY! Of all days!  
... Granted, it isn't much different than any other day to him, but it's the principle of the thing!  
All of his carefully planned activities (all zero of them), will be completely off balanced by this! Simply because he can't keep himself together in a Feebas-faced little draft.

Feeling disgusted by this, he let's off a loud shriek, swearing that he will find whatever thrice-cursed demon bird that's causing this catastrophe, this -wind-, and strangle it in front of its mate and offspring.  
He continues his rant, verbally bashing all winged beings that he knows of, until the small click of a latch unlocking draws his attention to the thick door acting as the entrance to this house, whose sheltered porch he's currently cowering under.

Creaking slightly in a foreboding manner, the dense wood slowly opens, until he finds himself looking down at the upturned face of a short, -disgustingly- happy looking little girl. As she catches sight of him,  
a wide smile of ignorant joy takes shape across her face, as she says with a high and bubbly voice,  
"You look funny!"

Right before she throws herself at him.

* * *

Hissing and spitting madly at the short, grasping arms held out to him, the floating entity continues to back away before drifting at a safe distance from the demented pink thing. Did this chubby little meat sack actually attempt to lay hands on him?!  
It should count it's lucky stars that he's not close to maturation, else it would be likely choking on the ground!

The pink thing continues to smile, to hold it's hands out to him. The wraith glares in both disbelief and morbid fascination as it wiggles it's fingers. Sickening...

The smile. The cursed, unholy, demented little -smile- of the thing. It smiles, whilst staring right at him! How is this possible? Is it brain damaged?

Mentally challenged or no, he must teach it to have proper respect for guests on it's front porch. Whether they were invited or not being of little consequence.

Bringing a pleasing image to the front of his mind, he adds a few minor details, such as flies,  
before sending the vomit inducing illusion through the pinkling's brain waves.

Giving a sharp cry at the sudden and horrendous mirage, the unholy child stumbles backwards, knocking over a rocking chair,  
before landing heavily on it's bottom.

The personified gas ball feels a lazy grin spread across his face while watching the pitiful reaction to the least powerful attack he could possibly muster. Unfortunately, this grin fades rather swiftly when confronted with bawling children, and a heavy scowl fast takes its place. With a vein bulging vigorously where his temple would be, he shouts at the girl, berating it for its childish tendencies and engaging in heavy hypocrisy along the way.

* * *

The watery-eyed little girl, enamored with the funny noises of the Pretty-Purple-Floaty-Ball,  
doesn't feel her tears dissipating, but merely continues listening to the hissings and the raspings (which, if focused upon, all seem to be a variant of two syllables), and watching the odd faces the Floaty-Ball would make.  
After a few minutes of this, an odd red-purplish colored spittle begins to spew from its mouth,  
along with a large, very easily noticeable twitch appearing in its left eye. This is a sight that has never before been seen by the girl,  
and she bites down on her fist to avoid giggling madly.

It doesn't really work.

* * *

Neither of them had paid any mind at all to the large yellow bag that had once been seated quite comfortably atop the rocking chair. After the chair's topple, the bag had slowly been slipping down the wide arm of the chair by one sturdy strap. At this point, however, gravity succeeds somewhat in its silent battle with the pack, as a multicolored sphere is pulled from its confines. It hits and bounces off the hardwood with two dull 'thunk's. Still unnoticed by the two figures down the porch, the red and white ball slowly rolls in their direction.

Hearing a slight giggle, the comically enlarged eyes of the raving specter stop rolling in their sockets and quickly focus on the girl. True enough, her shoulders are shaking, and aside from the reddened fist in her mouth,  
she appears to be having the time of her life.

He nearly lost it.

Some insults are stupid. Some sound naive. Some are rather childish. Some are used jokingly. Some aren't that bad.

And some are so foul and vile they seem to turn your tongue black as you speak.

You get three guesses.

He was describing a rather nasty crack against the pinkling's mother when a small, yet distinct 'pop'  
interrupts him mid-punchline. As one, they both look down upon the source of the noise, to see a small, distinct, red and white ball.

The oddly colored sphere had stopped its rolling just beneath the vile-tongued wraith, and had opened wide along a black seam near the middle, showing hollow but definitively mechanical insides.

Together again, they look up, and their eyes meet. One set staring in innocent curiosity,  
the other in dawning horror.

Without another second wasted, a red beam shoots forth from the ball, grasping and seemingly dissolving the astonished creature before retreating back into the ball, with the entity in tow.

Quickly shutting and locking itself, the ball rocks back from side to side rather violently for a good ten seconds, before becoming still and letting off a barely audible 'click'.

* * *

The girl continues to simply sit, staring at the seemingly lifeless ball with one finger still in her mouth.  
Soon, though, the finger slips from her lips and a grin of epic proportions takes its place. She briskly snatches up the newly filled Pok Ball and, forgetting all pretense of silence, skips off into the house, humming a merry tune.

She had caught her very first Pokemon! At the age of six-and-a-half!  
Without actually trying!

She was singing as she danced up the stairs. Wait'll her parents see THIS!


End file.
